


By Your Side

by motleystitches (furius)



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Abusive Partner, Against the World, Alternate Universe, Consent Issues, Declarations Of Love, Desk Sex, Dom!Charles and Sub!Erik, Dom/sub, Domestic Violence, Dysfunctional Family, Erik is not a Happy Bunny, Happy Ending, Honestly Charles What Are You Thinking, M/M, Step-siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-01
Updated: 2012-07-05
Packaged: 2017-11-08 22:25:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/448200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/furius/pseuds/motleystitches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles plays chess with Erik as often as possible in the evenings, but Erik is Cain's sub and Charles is planning to leave Westchester for Oxford at the end of summer.</p><p>D/S verse AU where the verse is the obstacle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Edited from post at the kink-meme prompt: http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/8700.html?thread=18665724t18665724

"Cain, what is this?” Kurt said. "He's your sub, not a rentboy."

"But I want to show him off.” 

Charles looked up from the landing and saw Erik dressed in a tunic so short that- Charles blushed and looked at his shoulders instead, but there the smudges of bruises were visible. Was it his imagination, or had Erik somehow _thinned_ in the last few weeks? Surely that was the contour of bone, not muscle. Charles trailed his gaze toward Erik's face, but Erik had his head down. 

"Get him dressed properly or neither of you will be joining us for dinner." Kurt's voice had risen. "And do something about his hair. Anyone would think you don't know how to be a proper dom. Where're the collar and the cuffs you extorted me to buy? 

“And you!" The whimper, bitten off, made Charles look up again to see Kurt was squeezing Erik's jaw forcing him to look up. "You try to look more cheerful! Get that sour look off your face before I whip it off you. Do you understand? Don’t think I won’t return you to Shaw. Embarrassing, both of you." He shoved Erik at Cain, who staggered then raised his arm. The slap echoed. Kurt began shouting again.

Charles was halfway up the stairs just as Kurt began to stomp down them.

"Charles!" Kurt barked. "Isn't this enough of a farce already? Why are you dawdling? Get yourself to the front hall to greet the guests while I get your mother. Her five hours are up."

Charles didn't see Erik again until nearly all the guests have arrived, standing stiffly the required step behind Cain as the footman announced them. Erik was in the traditional conservative male sub-dress, the clothes still bearing its militaristic origins of defeat and surrender. The platinum shine of the collar sat over the high neck of a dark purple doublet enwrought with red threads, the delicate links of a chain trailed to the middle of his chest where it ended up in a small medal-like tag bearing Marko’s crest and Cain’s stylized initial. Around his waist was a red sash, bound tightly and the end left overlong so that he had to hold one end up to walk unimpeded. Over his wrists were the wide metallic cuffs, connected to the collar with chains so intricately wrought that they glittered under the lights.

“Is that your sub, Cain?" One of the ancient shrill creatures at these dinners made an appreciative sweep up an down Erik’s figure, lingering significantly where the form fitting soft knee high boots and trousers hugged his legs. "You look lovely, dear. Erik, is it? We've all been dying to see you. What carriage! You must be one of Shaw’s. Kurt always has a fine eye.” She turned to Kurt. “What about Charles? You didn't get Charles a sub?"

"Charles has plans after university. He plans to study, what is it, geriatrics?" Kurt gestured with the wine glass.

"Genetics," Charles said, staring at a long red scratch on the side of Erik’s face. There was a hint of makeup over it, but his lips were a little puffy and little too red in the bland smile he was offering the guests circling around him.

"More education? Whatever for? But then, you Xaviers have always been eccentric. Brilliant, of course, but eccentric. I suppose that’s why Brian never contracted a sub for you while you were younger. Are the universities still enforcing that ridiculous no sub rule?"

"They think it's distracting to study when there are subs among the student population. Also, apparently it goes against certain...principles,” Kurt said, looking slyly at Charles, as if he respected Charles opinions on the matter. Charles appreciated the acknowledgement though not so much the patronizing tone. Two and half more months, he reminded himself, just eleven weeks.

"Well, academics, what can you do?” Charles companion patted his arm as he accompanied her to the dinning room and took out the chair. “We should legislate something. All this modernism can’t be healthy for subs or doms. What would the young people do when it comes to the management and protection of marriage and family if they don’t get the practise in early? In my day, subs, spouse or bound, wouldn’t be sitting at dinner. We had them kneeling by the side and hand fed them. My Clara, bless her soul, refused to eat unless it was I who gave it to her from my plate. Of course, her father was poisoned. Ambassy balls in foreign climes, never trust them.”

“Not a bad idea,” Cain said, sitting down opposite, looked to his side with a gleam in his eye. “Erik does look wonderful on his knees.”

“A terrible bother I think,” Kurt said, “and damned unhygienic. They have hands. They should be able to feed themselves. God knows I’ve better things to do than to feed Sharon bite by bite a ten course meal.”

“Well-”

The conversation moved away. Subs' plates sat empty by their doms. Kurt was discreetly trying to convince Sharon to try an hors d'oeuvre before the wine start, then sighed and gestured for the servers to begin. He ordered a portion of soup for her, but she only took a single desultory sip until Kurt asked a question about her charity work, where she began to launch into a speech that was, in Charles’ private opinion, distracted and ill-informed, if well-meaning. Unfortunately, as the hostess, no one would interrupt her until it ended.

Cain began to fill up only his own plate. The napkin remained in its origami in front of Erik through the fish course. When Erik noticed that Charles was staring, he unfolded the napkin and laid it on his lap, but Cain still paid him no mind. 

When Sharon finally finished her speech and those who felt affected expressed all their pathos, the other guests were finally allowed another topic.

It turned inevitably to politics and the new laws allowing subs in the military. 

“Only those with no doms, of course, and only those free. Poor creatures, subjecting themselves to such misery, taking orders from anyone when they could stay home and be looked after by their doms.”

“Perhaps some subs like to make their own choices.” Charles said. The dark copper of Erik’s hair gleamed under the lights of the chandelier, but his face looked very pale against his dark clothes. “Not all subs live in comfort with their doms who consider their comfort and safety. Some beat them without reason, some starve them without consent until they faint from hunger.” He said the last while looking directly at his step-brother, making a meaningful sweep of his eyes toward the plate in front of Erik. The rest of the table followed his gaze.

"I say!" Cain finally looked up from cutting into his steak. 

"Say what, Cain dear?” One of the woman said, watching like a vulture. It would be impolite to remark openly on other people’s private affairs, but gossip was blood to those at the table and anything Cain said would provide delightful salacious stories to be repeated and embellished through the summer garden parties.

Kurt was glaring, but not at Charles. Cain quelled under his father’s gaze. With no aftermath, the conversation drifted harmlessly away. When the next course came, there was food on Erik’s plate and Charles carefully did not look at Erik’s face.

Everyone was watching.

-=-=

It was midnight by the time the party ended. Cain and other doms of his age were going to another one in the city. Charles declined the invite.

“Too high and mighty to mingle with us, he is,” Cain sneered before they stumbled off with the chauffeur, but the relief in his voice was palpable.

Sharon and Kurt were already settled for the night in the East wing of the house when Charles made his way to the other side of the West wing. He waited by the banister before he saw the familiar silhouette, but walking away from him, 

"Erik," Charles called softly. Erik turned. He hadn’t changed from dinner. Even the collars and the cuffs were in place. Cain hadn’t unlocked them. 

"Charles," Erik said quietly, The sash around his waist were tucked up instead of trailing on the ground. "I apologise. I didn’t see you. I was just-" He glanced at his wrists, brows furrowed.

“I should be the one who should apologise,” Charles said. “At dinner, I know I shouldn’t presume, but-” He bit his lip as Erik came closer then forced a smile, rueful. “I suppose you wouldn’t want to play tonight after that display.” 

“It’s all right, Charles,” Erik said, then lowered his voice. “He didn’t ask, but Cain will be gone for the whole night.” He held out his arm like a dom, reckless. It was late, after all, all the servants were in bed. “Shall we, Mr. Xavier?”

Charles couldn’t help the smile as he took Erik’s hand and they went through the hallways made different by the dimmed lights, the shadow softening the hard angles and lines of the house.

In the library, the food was still warm under the covers. There were two sets of cutlery, two wine glasses, and a bottle breathing. Charles poured the wine, set the board, while Erik ate neatly and quickly, like a man who must eat while he could.

Is your face all right? Are you all right, Charles wanted to ask tonight and every night, but instead he asked: "White or black?"

Erik played black every time.

The game took all his concentration. Once, it had lasted from late evening into the early morning. Charles had been horrified when they were asked if breakfast should be brought in. Erik had grown ashen, but left without a word and returned the same evening walking with a leather collar so tight that it broke the breath of his sentences. “Cain just got in as well,” was all he said, but Charles was careful to set an alarm afterwards no matter how much he wished to Erik to stay. 

Erik was a terrifyingly excellent player, but it was more than just chess. To stay and simply....talk. His research, the world, anything at all.

Charles told himself that being friends with a stepbrother’s bound sub, not even his spouse, was perfectly respectable. Perfectly respectable, too, to find him intelligent, to find him beautiful, to find him admirable while wishing to erase every visible bruise and every mark on his skin, to ease the awful loneliness of being Charles felt that echoed in himself. It was all, he told himself, mere human sympathy. And in his unkind, but no less truthful moments- sympathy between two alike in intelligence.

Still, he had never dared to ask Erik whether he was happy. He was not; there were shadows under his eyes that grew darker by the week even as the days grew longer; there were times where he walked so carefully that Charles wanted to challenge Cain for Erik.

Charles was a coward. He could not promise Erik anything. He was going away at the end of the summer. Charles was a dom by an accident of his birth; he did not believe in the right of doms over subs or the bondage of certain subs. He wanted the archaic system of bound subs abolished, but it was built and sustained by centuries of tradition and formalities and could not be dismantled in an instant without violence.

And there was already violence enough in Erik’s life. Charles could lose; Cain would not be kinder to Erik for it. Charles could win, but how could then face his own hypocrisy? A dom who challenged his own brother for a bound sub was a story that could’ve came from the last century. 

Erik’s wrist was trembling as he lifted the bishop.

"You don't have to keep me company if you are tired."

"Are you dismissing me?" Erik quirked a smile. It came rarely. Charles treasured every one.

"No, I very much want you to stay, but if you're tired, I won't keep you."

"You can't, you mean." Erik said, smiling still. Charles wished he imagined the sadness at the corner of his mouth. "But I will stay. Sometimes I wish-"

The colour of Erik’s eyes shifted with the light. They seemed darker tonight.

"What?" Charles asked, softly, poised, waiting. Certain if Erik asked, he would be a hypocrite and worse. Erik understood him, surely, but then Erik looked away.

"I like the library the best in this house." 

Nothing had happened. Charles, disappointed, pleased that Erik did not ask out of consideration for him, and unhappy that he did so at all, said, "Yes, it's my favourite, too. It makes me feel safe, I suppose. My father use to work here while I read. The place hasn’t changed. It’s as if it’s its own world, a peaceful world.” He stopped abruptly, aware that he was rambling. 

“And that’s all you want?” Erik asked, watching him. 

“No, of course not,” Charles said, “but all men live in desire.” He looked down at the board. “Your game, my friend.”

-=-=


	2. Chapter 2

It was sometimes pleasant to see Erik in the day when they would have the house to themselves. Or at least, practically so. Sharon would be out to luncheon or an engagement. Kurt would be gone for business, having chivvied Cain out of bed early for the train. 

Charles sent down an order for a picnic hamper to be prepared. The sky threatened rain, but the wireless promised that it would clear.

“Just for you, sir?”

“What?” Charles startled to see his valet looking at him blandly, too good to show curiosity.

“Erik will be accompanying me,” he said, and went to the library with the book he had taken to bed last night.

Erik was already there, in polo and slacks, his hair combed neatly. Cain was definitely gone then. Erik looked every part a master of the house. Guiltily, Charles sought the relaxed lines of his body, greedy for every memory of the sight of him in the daylight, standing just so, trim and handsome, at ease with himself and in Charles’ favourite world.

“The books are out of order again,” Erik said, hand brushing over the spines on one of the shelves. He had been gathering the books they had left strewn around the room, wandering passage to passage as they talked, after the chess game, after little more wine, and almost fell asleep on the carpet. “You’ll never find anything again if you go on like this. I don’t think Mallory appreciates the irony of being placed next to Cervantes.”

Taking the pains to consult the faded notes written onto the wood, Charles had finally returned his bedtime reading to nest among its fellows when he found Erik standing seemingly frozen near Charles’ desk.

And Charles knew without looking what had caught Erik so completely. Charles could still feel the dense fabric of the paper beneath his hand, see the official letterhead, murmur the words to himself: 

_Dear Mr. Xavier,_

_I am pleased to offer you a place....._

“You had been talking about the possibility since Christmas, but you didn’t go,” Erik said. He picked up the letter, read it again. It was difficult to say what expression was on his face at that moment. Erik had an astonishing mastery over himself. It had been all in his training, but Erik had never had need to use his training against him except in their initial acquaintance.

Oxford terms for graduates could begin in the summer before official matriculation. Charles had already been admitted, he knew the professor’s research; he wanted the training. One wintry Boston afternoon after reading another one of his mother’s usual be-chequed letters, he took a bottle of wine to his room, and in a fit of mad courage, wrote and sealed and sent off the letter recommending himself. There had been no answer through spring. Then he came home and Erik-

“You know why,” Charles said, helpless in the face of Erik’s anger. Seeing Erik again, hearing his voice, talking to him- every part of Charles that thought he could miss nothing in America vanished.

“Do I?” 

“How can you ask me that?” Charles whispered, almost hurt. Eyes watching them. Ears hearing them. This was Marko’s house. He was a guest in his childhood home, but Erik had no more right to it than he did: better than a servant, in bed with the family, but not quite belonging to the house. 

When the law discontinued household guards, they should have abolished the system of bound male subs, let the system become as outmoded and as forgotten as heliocentric universes.. But progress was always too slow when it came to people. Science was better. Science meant that if Charles worked hard enough, thought and read enough, the world could be different. _Things_ improved. Charles believed in the scientific progress- the inherent implication that understanding conquered superstitions and liberated people to think beyond the bounds of what they’ve been taught, what had always been.

“You are going to leave anyways,” said Erik.

“Eleven more weeks,” answered Charles. “I want to spend them with- at home. I wouldn’t know when I’ll be able to come back.” Would he be able to send Erik letters? Would Erik write him? They could telephone, but Erik had never did so before.

“You will give yourself eleven weeks and spare me none of it.” The last words were so quiet Charles almost didn’t hear him.

He almost didn’t want to understand what it meant. He could hoard memories of Erik like a treasure and perhaps, in the future gather others. What hope did Charles leave with Erik? Charles thought he could see Erik’s mind: eleven weeks of memory of chess games, conversations....to hurt him when they would all be gone and he had only an inescapable Cain.

Even if Cain grew tired of him, Kurt wouldn’t allow the scandal. Only Cain’s marriage could save Erik, relegate him to some unimportant post on the estate, but Kurt didn’t like Cain and marriages could be delayed without talk when he had a sub, Erik.

The pain pierced through him. Recognizing his own selfishness was difficult, especially when it was something he wanted so desperately but could not have. “Do you want me to go?” Charles whispered, almost unable to breathe.

Erik remained silent. They were at an impasse. Erik made a movement. The letter fluttered between them. Charles didn’t pick it up from where it fell. A film of moisture started to obscure his vision. He excused himself.

He stumbled through the corridors. There were miles of it, all of them empty. Then the impression of the gray sky struck him at the same time a grandfather clock chimed noon. He headed toward the kitchens, startling everyone and hating the awkward panic on their faces.

“It’s going to rain, sir,” one of the kitchen maid said. “Just, the picnic-”

“We’ll need lunch anyways. In the library, if it rains,” Charles said, then, embarrassed, retreated back into his room. The house was too large and too small, the echoes of his own footsteps winding around him, strangling. He pushed opened a window and climbed carefully out to the roof.

The sky was thick, the clouds swollen with rain. He wished it would rain. Perhaps then the air would clear a little. His head, too. No rules of syllogism, no laws of nature, no book of philosophy had prepared him for who he had become. He imagined himself an observer from his own life. Kurt could mock him in the privacy of their home. Sharon would act disaffected. Neither of them loved him, even, but Charles Francis Xavier was heir of the Xavier estates, a brilliant scholar, a credit to his name, even to Marko’s name, for in the world’s eyes Kurt raised him and Kurt’s own son resented him for it....

Charles thoughts faltered. Cain resented him even as Charles’ resented Cain for being Erik’s dom, an undeserved favour of Erik’s exclusive company. A long dormant, painfully suppressed longing had stirred within him and he was at sea: head and heart confused from unaccustomed motion.

He did not know how long he stood there. He woke as if out of a dream when a bead of moisture, gathered from the damp air, slid down his hair and tickled his face.

He made his way back to the library then, hoping that Erik was still there. Erik avoided the West wing of the house where he lived as much as he was able. Still, he could be like Charles and already escaped to the grounds. When Charles accompanied Kurt on one of his rounds, the gameskeeper and the groundskeeper and the groomsmen had been very complimentary about Erik. 

Charles felt terrible and childish for leaving Erik alone. He would apologise.They would talk, figure out, plan something. Charles might not have to challenge Cain at all. Kurt could be persuaded to let Erik go or let Cain marry. Charles had never needed to negotiate with Kurt, but he would for Erik. If they could strategize twenty-moves ahead in chess why should they worry about the Markos at all? 

The quality of the light through the windows seemed to have changed. Charles quickened his step then opened and slammed the library door shut behind him.

Erik began gasping as Cain released his hand around his throat, his mouth on his chest.

"What are you doing?" Charles imagined glass, its surface smooth and cool, and endeavored to match his voice to the effect.

“What do you think I’m doing? Didn’t your mother teach you to knock? Erik, did I tell you to stop?” Erik had closed his eyes, his head bowed, but it wasn’t difficult to know what his renewed movements atop of Cain’s body or Cain’s low moan meant.

Charles studied the ceiling, fists clenched. "Cain, anyone could walk in.”

"Let them. He's my sub, now go away unless you want to watch.” Cain grunted, like a beast in labour. 

“What if Kurt walk in? You know what he says about protocol.” The ugly slap of flesh against flesh was obscenely loud. There was a crack in the ceiling that bisected the room. Odd how he had never noticed. 

“Fuck protocol,” Cain said. “Who’s going to tell? Who’s going to care? Erik, what’s wrong with you?” The sound of the impact of something heavy and solid against the floor made Charles look.

Erik was tall and exceptionally wiry, but Cain had a few stone on him and Erik’s hands were trapped within his shirt. His shoulder took the brunt of the fall. Then Cain unthreaded his belt, wrapped it around his hand, and let the buckle dangle at the end.

And Erik was still there, on the floor.

Charles couldn’t breathe. “Stop!” 

Cain turned around, surprised. “What did you say?”

“This is a library, not your rooms,” Charles said, keeping his eyes on Cain’s face. “This is also my study. Why are you in here?”

“Why am I in here?” Cain repeated. “I was looking for my sub. I found him here instead of in my rooms.”

“Kurt will be looking for you.”

“I left early,” Cain said.

Left early. Charles could barely suppress his contempt. Kurt had dismissed him again. They would hear about it when he returned, no doubt. 

“Perhaps,” Charles said, thinking of glass, lancing through Cain where he stood, “Erik wants a book to read.”

“I haven’t given him permission to read a book from this library,” said Cain, nastily. “Now, unless you do want to make a row and bring everyone here to investigate, you’ll let us finish. ”

“No, you will not _finish_ here,” Charles said, then he remembered that long unhealed scratch on Erik’s face, the bruises he had seen. Erik was too good of a sub to speak ill of his dom, or perhaps, he simply saw no point, but Charles wasn’t stupid. Erik couldn’t speak with Cain strangling him. His hands were bound. There was nothing in the scene Charles had walked in that implied it was ever safe or that Cain ever cared it had been. “Unless I stay.”

Cain blinked slowly. Then a sly look came over his face. “You do want to watch,” he crowed, triumphant. The idea seemed to dramatically improve his temper. The belt was still wrapped in his hand, but now he arranged himself on the armchair, legs splayed, the bulge of his erection visible beneath his shirt. 

“Crawl to me,” Cain ordered.

Deliberately, Charles turned his back on them and studied the spines of the books, tried to remember the titles of the mis-shelved books as the string of filthy encouragements washed over him until finally there was a jangle and rustle of clothes.

“You are done,” Charles said, careful to look only at Cain. He was aware that Erik was still naked on the floor. The glimpses of his skin in contrast to a fully dressed Cain made Charles suddenly afraid. “Now leave.”

“But you wanted to watch.” Cain said, tilting his head, the animal sort of intelligence that had haunted Charles childhood nightmares now lighted his eyes; no matter where Charles had hid in the house, Cain always found him; later on, he realised cruelty could masquerade as a vicious sort of cleverness. “My apologies if it’s not what you expected. Erik could make a man impatient, but _he_ hasn’t finished. He’s who you want to watch, am I right?”

Before Charles could say anything, Cain hauled Erik up by the arm. “Now, have you been looking, Charles? Of course you have, everyone looks. I’ll gladly pay the price for the generous use of your library. Look, look your fill. Erik, don’t lower your eyes, let Charles see you, let him see you. He wants a show.”

Helpless, Charles was looking. He had never seen Erik naked. Near enough, perhaps, when Cain took into his head to parade Erik around his friends when Kurt was not there, but Charles had never been home by the time they arrived.

And now Erik was in front of him. Charles couldn’t look at him without the knowledge that his nakedness was a display because Cain had ordered it for Charles. The guilt was terrible, but not as terrible as the irresistible draw of seeing Erik’s body. He had never thought of it in particular before beyond a nebulous appreciation, but now it was bare to him- there was nothing in his thoughts except the sight of Erik’s chest, his taut stomach, the jut of hipbone, and the line of reddish hairs leading downwards. Desire came like a revelation. Charles inhaled sharply and almost choked. 

“You are red, Charles,” Cain pointed out, his voice a tiny buzz. “Don’t you two make a matched pair? Erik’s not very girlish most of the time, but there’s that nice flush he gets. I’ve tried to keep him out of the sun all summer to keep the pallor. Come on, that’s long enough for the front.”

The loud smack brough was so loud that Charles startled as if the hand landed on his own skin, but it was Erik who bore the brunt of Cain’s humor. Wordlessly, Erik turned around and bent himself over the arm of the couch. 

"Come on, legs apart, show him." Cain hit Erik again, this time on the back of his thighs. The imprint of his hand was already on the swell of Erik’s arse, which he then pried apart, driving in one fat finger. A muscle quivered in Erik’s thigh at the intrusion, then he stilled it as Cain commentated, as if Erik was a car or a horse he was showing.

And, God help him, Charles couldn’t take his eyes off of the scene, every dirty detail of it searing his mind. He said nothing when Erik was knelt on the sofa and began to masturbate, one hand behind himself, positioned so that Charles could see how the movement of his hips threw his muscles into sharp relief, the way his mouth parted as he drove his fingers into himself.

The horrific realization that Cain had done this before, that Erik had did this _before_ , for others -- other people’s _price?_ \-- finally broke the inappropriate arousal threading low at Charles’ back.

But his mouth was dry, his voice rasped. He swallowed, wet his lips, and prepared to speak again.

“Don’t you want him?” Cain asked.

Erik’s eyes, which had been even and cool gray in the rainy morning, were now blazing green, the pupils expanded until the green seemed as if they were burning. 

Charles met them. “No,” he said, and tore his eyes away.

Cain sighed, as if he had been deprived of sport. “Well, Kurt always said you are more machine than man. But good, I suppose, since he’s mine because he is mine, Charles. You can look all you like, but you can’t touch him and you can’t taste him. You better not,” he warned, “you liar. You think that I don’t know about your precious books? Kurt doesn’t even open the doors to this room when you’re not here. It’s yours he says, as if- Well, Erik’s mine. He can’t give you anything unless I say or it’s worse for him.”

“Keep him,” Charles said, feeling as if he were driving daggers into himself. His whole body felt like if it was burning. Hellfire. “I don’t want him. Not everyone is crass as you are, Cain. Even if I want a sub, it wouldn’t be your dregs.”

He would scoff, if it would not mix with Erik’s quickening breaths, too loud and intimate with Cain there.

Cain shrugged. He turned to Erik and patted his face. "Come now Erik. You are mine. Come or I'll send you back to Shaw."

Reluctantly, Charles looked again as Erik closed his eyes and came- over the Oxford letter, over the chessboard.

Symbolic, thought Charles wildly, the view of the strain and release of Erik’s body burnt in his memory. Erik had closed his eyes, his body shuddering slightly in the aftermath of his climax.

“He’s all soft now,” Cain said, as Erik stood, his legs slightly unsteady. “And won’t be up again for a while. That’s the difficulty with him, a bit of a cold-fish, but Kurt insisted on him instead of a girl. Get a move on.” He raised his hand again.

“You touch him again and I’ll-”

“You’ll what?”

Charles moved in front of the door. He was almost a full foot shorter than Cain. He had to look up. "Let Erik get dressed or I _will_ tell Kurt. Not of this, but who hobbled Fireblazer.” Charles, too, could be cruel. “It will be your word against mine." 

"Kurt-" Cain spat the name, but he turned to Erik and ordered him to dress. The shirt was a loss. 

"Give him your jacket," Charles said.

Cain, still glaring, took off his jacket. Erik looked like half a child in it, but he was clothed at least.

Charles moved away and watched them until they disappeared from view. 

He telephoned the company headquarters. “Tell my brother,” he said, “that Kurt wants him down.” 

He had no way to know for certain if he did , but Kurt needed someone he could trust in business.Why was Cain so _stupid_ he couldn’t see that Kurt only wanted some initiative from him? Kurt married Charles’ mother for her money and he wanted to keep it, a much more complicated affair than he had imagined when he realised that it still mattered that his last name was not Xavier. 

The phone in the hall rang in a moment and it wasn’t long before he heard Cain’s motorcar leave.

Eleven weeks. He could spare Erik of Cain’s company as much as he was able at least.

He sent up lunch for then waited, clearing away the mess, just to avoid having to think what had trespassed, but Erik never came down again. Charles fell asleep watching the rain, all his thoughts tangled and barbed. No one came home for dinner. Charles read Mallory alone and fell asleep dreaming of wandering wild in a forest.

-=-=


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get worse before they get better, or so it seems.

The next morning, everyone was at breakfast except for Erik.

"I let him sleep in," Cain was saying.

"Don't let it become a habit. Erik's young enough, you shouldn't let him get lazy,” said Kurt and returned to his newspaper. He seemed oddly subdued. Usually he would be shouting at Cain. Today he sounded almost _fond_.

"What did you do to him?" Charles asked, disturbed. He meant Kurt.

"Why?" Cain said, cutting the bacon on his plate into meticulous pieces. "Did you beat off afterwards?” Charles gut clenched as the memory came back in one intolerable rush. “I certainly did, had to make it quick. He's prettier when he cries. Too bad I had to get away. I wonder how could I do it again? He’s never cried you know,” Cain continued, as if sharing a confidence. “It’s certainly not the audience. Perhaps the fear of being found out? Or maybe just hearing that you don’t want him? No one ever said that to him you know. Subs have their little vanities, perhaps that’s what he needs- a little humiliation, a little fear. Gotta find the right buttons.”

"He's not a toy," Charles said fiercely under his breath.

“Bought and paid for and given, for a birthday present, along with the car. Oh Charles, are you jealous? Regretting your high-mindedness now after...” Cain’s smile was unpleasant, “a restless night? Knew you can’t be a saint! Sinned in your thoughts, didn’t you? Dregs or no dregs, so you say, you were hard for him, I saw it. He could be tantalizing that way, just out of reach.”

“Erik’s an actual human being, not an object. He’s flesh and blood.”

“Oh, I know that.” Cain smirked. “Blood doesn’t make him cry though; Shaw reassured us during the sale. I thought that was how it’s suppose to be. What a cheat, when people say tears is a milestone between doms and subs. Besides, Erik’s much more cooperative when he’s weeping,” Cain paused then added, “or when he’s hungry. I’m still training him to beg.”

Charles couldn’t even look at the plate of toast and eggs in front of him any more. “You are suppose to be his dom, not his torturer.”

"Charles, darling, it's unbecoming to discuss private matters between other doms and subs at the breakfast table," Sharon said mildly, sipping her tea, without looking up from the mail, “even you brother’s.”

"Yes, Charles, it's unbecoming. I'm deeply, deeply shocked," Cain mocked, “but perhaps we can come to an agreement, as gentlemen. Don’t say I never did anything for you afterwards when I’m sharing what’s mine.”

He’s not yours, he’s mine, Charles thought, shocking himself into silence.

“Recommend me a little,” Cain was saying, raising his chin toward Kurt, “and I’ll give let you have another show. Personally, I don’t find watching him very exciting, but clearly you do. I won’t even be in the room if you don’t like it. I know you’re a man of your word, Charles, I can trust you not to touch. Erik knows the consequences.” 

There was a ray of sunlight stabbing through the window onto the table, the light reflecting on the knife by Charles’ plate. If I challenge him, Charles thought, or even if I hurt him badly enough, he’ll never be able to hurt Erik again.

Cain added, almost as an afterthought, “You’ll be gone soon, anyways.”

And the cold reality burned all his thoughts to ash. Erik would be Charles Xavier’s own bound sub, but left behind with Cain, perhaps even returned to Shaw under some pretext. And Erik, Erik would kill Cain if he ever touched him again, Charles was certain of it, if Charles did not do it himself. Killing? Murder? Hypocrisy and murder, all for the purpose of owning Erik? From an abusive dom to a murderous one- alas poor Erik......

But Erik was not here. There was only Cain, smiling as he was certain that Charles had not been contemplating his death and how everyone would be happier for it. “You will regret it, Cain,” Charles said, his own anger and shame making his voice sound alien to his own ears, “if you ever bring up this ever again. You are Kurt’s son, not me. As you say, I’m leaving.”

He left the table, went to the library, began to make arrangements to leave as soon as possible. The longer he stayed, the more Cain would provoke him and Charles’ treacherous body had given him the means.

Cain was the boy that pulled apart the wings of flies. Charles remembered seeing him feeding each gossamer wing, each leg, to a candle-flame while the fly twitched beneath a long cloth pin, cloth pins Cain then attempted to prick Charles’ with until he had cried and his dozing nurse slapped Cain away and snuffed the candle.

Childhood was long gone, but Charles felt like the fly, struggling against something so immense he couldn’t even imagine its entirety beyond the hurt of Cain’s words. It would’ve been simple: a word there, a sentence there, recommending Cain to his own father, but Cain would never believe an unselfish act because he himself would expect payment and he would pay Charles with Erik.

The scene at library had quaked loose the foundations of Charles’ wilful ignorance, uncovered the unexpected strata and showed him a different history. How could Charles had not known? It _had_ been lust. Lust and desire for Erik’s company, for Erik’s safety now so twisted together he no longer knew what was between Erik and him. Was it ever right? Had it always been selfish? That, for all his words, for all ideas and ideals, he merely wanted to call Erik his? He was, in reality, as disgusting as all those men and women he held in contempt?

Even amidst frantic effort to bury himself in books, a sentence, a phrase, and Charles’ reality would suddenly return and he cursed Cain and his snide comments, his repeated offers. He almost cursed Erik, for ignoring him, for tempting him with impossibilities. More often, cursed the world where these were impossibilities.

He still saw Erik at meals sometimes, but Erik wouldn’t meet his eyes and Charles had to feign that it didn’t matter at all that Erik no longer played chess with him, no longer even talked to him, that he hadn’t allowed Charles to apologise, didn’t help him to puzzle out...himself.

The library now gave him no peace. He fell asleep there, waiting, and his dreams were flooded with blood and sex. 

The first time Charles woke up from the dream, his pants still wet and sticking to his skin, he threw up, but the dreams did not stop. In the bright heat of the summer mornings, he remembered the blood on his hands, the imagined clench of Erik’s body as he thrust into him, and the way Erik looked- as if Charles would save him.

-=-=

Cain left for his annual seaside holiday two days before Charles’ departure. Tired, angry, Charles had snapped at him. Whatever he said or did, it had seemed to prove sufficiently deterring that Cain made no more remarks left him alone.

Charles’ attended three more parties held in the house, one ostensibly for his farewell where his mother cooed and Kurt made awkward conversation and the rest of the guests promised him introductions to more people like themselves.

Charles hated this house and everyone in it.

Everyone, that was, except Erik, who wouldn’t even spare him a good evening when Charles brushed by his side two evenings ago, who hadn’t given Charles a chance to apologise.

Charles ran a hand through his hair and looked about his room, its poor array of impersonal bric-a-bracs. Most of his luggage had already been packed and sent ahead; he would only have a travelbag when he go to the station. He had gone through the books in the library and made sure they were all in order before locking the door. He would take none of it with him, but he had a copy of the key to the door made, the new metal teeth digging into his palm.

The window was open. The curtains stirring with the wind that brought in the cool scent of the evergreens around the estate. Charles took a deep breathe. It was one of the only good things, the pure things, about being here that he enjoyed compared to college.

He made his way to Cain’s rooms and stood outside of his door. 

“Erik, I’m sorry,” he said, heedless of who might hear him. “Erik, please, open up. Let me see you. Let me say goodbye at least.”

There was no sound inside the room, but Erik was inside, Charles was certain of it. Cain had told Kurt that he had instructed him to remain indoors while he was gone. 

“Erik,” Charles tried, louder, knocking on the door, “please talk to me. Anything. I...I miss you. I’m sorry. I-” _Come away with me. Come away, just talk to me. We can figure out a way, but I need you. I can’t think alone for us. I need you there._ Charles leaned his head against the door. “I’m leaving you the key to the library. No one else can get in.” 

He twisted the handle on the door. It was locked. He rattled it again. There was no sound from within. “Erik, can you hear me? Just let me know you are well and you want me gone. I’ll never bother you again.” 

The silence became unbearable. He could hear his own heartbeat. Charles went to a sitting room and grabbed a poker from the fireplace. The doors in the house were old and heavy oak, but age had also made the locks flimsy. He smashed it. The door swung open.

Then Charles was beside the bed.

“Erik, Erik, can you hear me?” He asked, frantic, removing the blindfold and the gag. Erik’s chest was moving shallowly. He turned his head at Charles’ voice and his eyes blinked open, as if unseeing. “Where are the keys, Erik? How long have you been like this?” Charles talked on, his hands useless against the chains. “Wait, I’ll come back. I promise.”

He was running down the hall when someone caught him by the arm. Charles whirled around, saw in hand, to see a startled Kurt.

“Cain chained up Erik,” Charles said, “he’s bleeding,” and wrenched himself away.

“Erik, stay with me,” he repeated as he worked the saw into the bedpost, “I’m going to get you out. I swear it.” His hand started to bleed, but finally the wood began to splinter and finally fell, crashing into the nearby vase, the water creeping across the carpet and soaking his trousers, but then the chains were free. Charles unwound them from around Erik’s wrists. They fell into a pile on the floor.

Erik let out a pained hiss as Charles touched and massaged down the length of his arm, the blood on his hands smearing across innumerable red and purple bruises.

The commotion must have woken half the house. When he looked up again, he saw Kurt and several other startled faces in the doorway.

Charles stood, trying to block Erik from view. 

"Take his shirt off," Kurt said. Charles made no movement. “Erik, strip.”

“Don’t,” Charles turned to Erik.

Erik looked at Kurt, at Charles, then back at Kurt again, then began to unbutton his shirt. His fingers fumbled so Charles knelt and helped him and saw the neat cuts that marred Erik’s torso.

Kurt’s voice: “Can you stand?” 

Erik, ignoring Charles’ hand, began to push himself from the bed. He wasn’t wearing anything below his waist except for a bizarre contraption around his groin. He stood, but it clearly pained him. Threads of blood wounded down the inside of his legs.

Kurt made a disgusted noise. 

"Get back into bed, get that thing off. Call a doctor, be discreet and quick about it. Go on!" He shooed a startled maid into action then turned to Charles. "You."

"Yes, sir?"

"Don't be cheeky with me. Did you know this?"

"He’s Cain’s sub,” Charles said.

"Cain!" Kurt shouted. "Cain! That imbecile. Letting his sub get to this state. Does he have any idea how to be a dom? how much Erik costs? And now, look at him!" He gestured to Erik. “What do I even do with him? Everyone knows he’s from my house. What will it look like? Where can I even send him?” 

Erik’s lips moved.

"What? Speak up."

"Turn me out if you like,” Erik rasped, his jaw taut. “I’m not going back to Shaw.”

Kurt laughed. "Turn you out? My dear boy, who’s going to compensate _me_?"

“I’ll run,” Erik said.

Kurt's eyes narrowed dangerously. "You'll what?"

“I’ll run.”

“Then you’re quite a useless sub, aren’t you?” Charles saw, all of a sudden, that Kurt had the poker in his hand.

He couldn't take this any more. “Erik needs a doctor, not a dom.”

“You are wrong, Charles,” Kurt said, sounding oddly calm. “Erik needs a dom. He’s a bound sub in this house. I can’t send him back to Shaw in this state, and since Cain has proved himself incapable, you’ll be Erik’s dom.”

"I don’t want-" Charles closed his mouth. He avoided looking at Erik, the betrayal that must be there. He could be Erik's dom. Oxford or no Oxford- As long as Erik was with him, they would figure out a way.

“Don’t want him?” Kurt asked. “Well, even you must compromise sometimes. And if you run, Erik Lehnsherr, rest assured that Sebastian Shaw will be the least of your problems. Charles, don't touch him until he's recovered and we get the transfer formalized. Don’t think you are not too old for a thrashing."

"No, sir,” Charles said and remained as Kurt left, giving instructions for food and water, for change of linen. His own hands shook as he washed them, watching the blood draining in the sink.

The doctor came, was quite brusque about it in his summary: malnutrition, the injuries were all superficial. He glanced at Charles’ bandaged hands, and didn’t ask who Erik’s dom was. After a disconcerting sigh that to Charles seemed like resignation, he left instructions that Erik should be looked after, preferably by a nurse.

Kurt announced his decision concerning Erik’s new status the next day- they had invited the lawyer for lunch in two weeks. He had telephoned and made inquiries. Erik was already in the house. Kurt’s signature would suffice since Cain was still away. 

Afterwards, Sharon looked at Kurt reproachfully. “He’s a Xavier, how can you get him _Cain’s_ leavings? Charles doesn’t even want a sub. And Erik, Erik’s...” she trailed off. “He’s taller,” she finished weakly as Charles became incredulous.

“What?” 

She wasn’t paying attention to him. “I thought we had agreed to get him a girl, a nice pretty girl, for a bound sub, when he wants one. Someone to play chess with, to talk about his funny ideas. She’ll have gold hair and look lovely sitting next to him. They can have children together.” She sniffed, “it’s what Brian would’ve wanted. He said that class system oppressed everyone, not just the bound subs, but doms of all classes. I would’ve never married you otherwise.” 

Kurt let out a long suffering sigh. “Have you even seen Erik lately? He’s hardly going to be a handful. Besides, Charles _is_ a dom and we’ll get him books.”

“Fine,” Sharon said. “You get him his books.. My beautiful baby,” she said, tracing down a soft finger down Charles’ cheek. Charles was too surprised to move. He didn’t remember the last time his mother touched him. “You’re so nice, just like your father. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure that horrible boy is nice to you.”

-=-=

There was no ceremony necessary. It wasn’t a marriage, wasn’t even a purchase. Charles signed his name and returned to Erik’s bedside after the uncomfortable lunch. His presence in the room annoyed the nurse, but Erik still refused to speak to him. Charles would wait; it was his penance, though poor punishment as he fed Erik soup, brought him towels, ice, read to him to distract him when fever wracked his body.

They were still in Cain’s rooms, but every night Charles’ slept the sleep of the heartsick and the exhausted in a cot made up beside Erik and the dreams were gone as Erik healed. 

“I signed the documents today,” Charles said quietly. “I’m now officially your dom. Why did Cain leave you chained?”

“He forgot, I think,” Erik said. “He was going to be late.”

The answer startled Charles, then he realised why, and guilt roiled inside him again. “You don’t have to answer me if you don’t want to.”

“I want you to know,” Erik said, “now that I’m your sub.”

“I didn’t forget you. I’m not going to forget you and I’m only your dom because-”

“I require it?”

“Because perhaps you wished for it, once upon a time. Erik, don’t you see, I would do _anything_ for you, but I need you to say it.” Charles hand hovered over Erik’s hair, over his face.

Erik’s bafflement, his surprised, parted mouth, and the healthy flush of his cheek reminded Charles so much of a happier time -- an obscure ancient maneuver of bishop and knights conducted efficiently, a verse of shared poetry-- that Charles became terribly aware of the new knowledge of his body, the additional element that made becoming Erik’s dom more than bittersweet.

He withdrew, bit his lower lip until the sting brought him back to the present.

“Charles-” 

Whatever Erik wanted to say, they were interrupted. Charles was summoned by Kurt to the board meeting of Xavier Enterprises. By the time they were back in Westchester, it was already eleven and Charles was tired.

He thought of seeing Erik again, but it was late. In his own room was Erik standing in a diaphanous shirt.

Charles blinked. The fantasy remained. 

"I don't know if you have any," Erik said, gesturing to a chest set on a stand. "and I couldn't use another dom's, but this set had never been used."

Charles raised an eyebrow as he lifted the lid The metal and the leather sat gleaming amidst the green velvet. It must have came with Erik's trousseau from Shaw. Charles had seen them all in books, knew them all theoretically and practically from the classes Kurt forced on him, but-

He looked at Erik’s face, careful not to let his eyes stray below the neck. "I'm tired, Erik," he said, "let's just go to sleep.”

He let Erik help him out of his clothes and put them away. Tired as he was, he couldn’t help responding to Erik’s hand touching him, his warmth so close against his skin.

“Why should anything change between us?” Charles asked, softly. 

“Don’t you wish to?” Erik breath was warm against Charles’ mouth. He started to kneel, but Charles grabbed his shoulders.

He closed the space between them. He pressed his lips against Erik’s, but then his mouth opened beneath his and then it was wetness and heat and a sensation grander than a thousand feverish dreams tightening his body until he was a madness of nerves.

He walked Erik to the bed. Erik pulled him down and slipped free of that shirt.

“Is this all right?” Charles asked, his hand skimming Erik’s torso, unable to even feel the scars though he could still see them in his mind. “Give me your word,” Charles urged, his body already surging forward.

“What word?” Erik gasped. 

“To stop me.”

“From what?” Erik asked confusedly.

“A safeword, Erik.”

“Shaw said that it’s just a formality. Do whatever you like.”

“You don’t believe that,” Charles, aghast, felt his arousal going. He sat up, straddling Erik’s body. “How could you give consent?”

“Why should I be able to give consent? I’m a bound sub. I’m a glorified bedslave. A catamite. What if I said no? He’ll just send me back to Shaw.”

Charles removed himself from Erik until they no longer touched. “Erik, if you say no I’ll stop. I swear it. Trust me. No one’s going to send you to Shaw. Tell me what you want. Anything. ”

“Kiss me again,” Erik said, looking at him. The moonlight through the window described the contours of his face, the terrible beauty of it, “tell me you want to kiss me.”

So Charles kissed him and told him he wanted to kiss him. He had wanted to kiss him the moment he met him, every moment in his company.

“For I think of you,” Charles confessed as they lay entangled again, the lengths of their bodies pressed together. “I think of you and I could not think of anything else. Don’t move, let me finish,” he said and Erik didn’t and it was a terrible and beautiful thing, for there was no restraint except the warmth of his own hands, the weight of his own body. Charles continued, “When the others at college talk about their subs at home, I talked about you. I said that we met in spring, that there was an intolerable garden party and I went into the labyrinth and I don’t remember getting to the center because I remember seeing you. I said that we read poetry in five languages together. I talked about how well you could play chess, how well you could ride. I said that you are the only person who ever understood me, that you are the best and strongest person I’ve ever known. They laughed at me.”

Erik shifted, drawing out a groan from him. “Why?”

“Because that is how it is, that is how it should be, what love is. But I didn’t _dare_ , I didn't _dare_. I talk about never having a bound-sub, I lied to the Markos I didn't want you-”

"But you do?"

The question was so unexpected that Charles didn't answer immediately. "I didn't want to give Cain more reasons to hurt you, to think that you are not his.”

"Coward, hypocrite, and liar-" Erik said, half-wonderingly, "for an idealist, Charles, you-

"I'll break every single rule for you," Charles promised, and then there were no more words.

-=-=


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing is as simple or as easy as people think.

Charles was waiting for the chocolate to melt and for the milk to warm in the two pots. From the cupboard, he brought out the jar of fresh marshmallows. From the spices cabinet, he took out a sprig of vanilla. He picked out the pods then crushed them with the flat side of the paring knife.

The cocoa was for himself, the milk for Erik, whom Charles hoped was feeling calmer. Absently, Charles rubbed at the bruise on his collarbone as he poured the steaming milk into the mugs and whisked in the vanilla. Erik didn’t like Charles there after his nightmares and had trouble falling asleep afterwards. Warm milk helped --Erik didn’t like chocolate-- so did the sweet sticky concoction Charles was making as he pushed in the marshmallows in one by one until they crowded the surface. The ritual soothed him and Erik’s mouth tasted sweet afterwards.

Kurt entered, wiping his brow with a handkerchief. Seeing Charles, he froze.

“What are you doing here?” 

His eyes fell on the pot on the stove, the cups Charles was holding in his hand and let out a strange laugh, almost an ululation of some wild beast. Charles edged away from him. 

“You are like me, you know,” Kurt said. “Your mother and I, we worried. Or at least, I did, but you’re a man who goes after what he wants, damn hell and consequences- that’s your father in you.”

Charles frowned and chose to ignore the remark. Erik would be expecting him back by now. 

“Erik’s looking well lately.” Kurt took out a pie from the oven then set it on the counter along with a knife and fork. He waved the fork at Charles. “You’re looking worse. Don’t let your mother see that bruise. Erik not as easy as you imagined? Well, wishes granted tend to backfire, but you’re a smart boy, I’m sure you’ll find a way.”

“Good night, Kurt,” Charles said, “and you didn’t grant me anything. I never wished to be Erik’s dom. The whole system is-”

“Spare me your sanctimonious rants, boy,” Kurt interrupted, cutting into the pie and setting it on a plate. “Erik is a sub Shaw sold to me. I gave him to Cain, because it’s high time he got one and I thought some responsibility would do him good. You’ve expressed no interest and your mother insists that Brian wanted you to find a marriageable sub yourself. It’s all nonsense. Young men need their outlets, better on a bound-sub than a freeborn one and I was right. What did you do after you came home this summer? Holed up with Erik every single evening in the library.” He laughed again, as if some private joke.

Charles tensed. He had never seen Kurt so...jovial, but then, he had scarcely never spent any time alone with him. 

“Don’t tell me you didn’t want him for yourself,” said Kurt, then pierced him with a look.”You can protest all you like, you riled up Cain somehow, showed me just how thoroughly incompetent he was. It’s a good strategy, no doubt. A little cruel to Erik perhaps but he probably expected it.”

Charles wanted to correct Kurt on everything, but for once he saw no need. “Erik is my friend,” he said carefully. 

Kurt raised an eyebrow. “Yes, friendships. I know all about bound subs and their relationships with the family. If one doesn’t suit, another might do, and it probably helps you are easier on the eyes than Cain.” 

Charles told himself that he should leave, but for his damnable curiosity. “What are you saying?”

Kurt sighed. “Do you know how Shaw trains his subs? You never went with Cain and I to his school. Shaw was a harsh teacher but Erik was the best of the lot: handsome, strong, intelligent, adaptable.” He smiled, as if they were his own virtues. “Why did you think I want him to Cain instead of a girl? She wouldn’t have lasted a week in this house. She wouldn’t know how to get _you_.”

“You are not making any sense.” 

“It happens, Charles, don’t worry about it. Erik is yours. Congratulations. He’ll be a credit to you at any gathering. I’m sure you’ll get him enough to eat as well. But where do people put things in this kitchen?” Kurt started rifling through the cabinets muttering about biscuits. Wordlessly, Charles showed him the breadbaskets, then he was going to leave.

“The company will also be yours when you return,” Kurt continued. Charles paused in the doorway and turned around to see Kurt looking at him, “Cain will get no part of it. I can admit my mistakes, believing that he could show a little enthusiasm for the means of his own livelihood seems to be one of them. He’ll run it to the ground and I’m not planning to spend my last years with worthless shares and living in a three bedroom condo. Your mother wouldn’t like a house the size of her wardrobe.”

“It was never a bid to win the company,” said Charles.

“Hah! Leave me to my dinner, Charles. Go back to your Erik. You’ve made your bed and now go lie in it. Enjoy it. Shaw assured me that Erik could be anything for anyone.”

When Charles left, he could still hear Kurt chuckling to himself.

-=-=

Kurt didn’t know anything, Charles told himself. Kurt didn’t know Erik. It was easy to dismiss Kurt’s misapprehensions. Charles had been doing it all his life, but there was something poisonous in his ramblings that seeped into his thoughts. 

“Why do you sleep with me?” Charles asked one night after Erik came out of the bath, half-dressed and hair still wet, the ends curling.

“You are very good-looking,” Erik said, nonchalantly, “you know that without me telling you.” He crawled on top of Charles and kissed a cheekbone. “I like your eyes, your mouth, your neck...” Erik continued and touched each part as he named it, his tongue lavishing particular attention to the inadvertent bruises his nightmares left on Charles. 

Charles had to remember what he was saying when Erik’s mouth drifted near his navel and his hand travelled up the inside of his thigh. “I mean, do you have sex with me because you’re my sub?”

Erik paused, looking up. “You enjoy it, don’t you?” 

The anxiety in his face confirmed Charles’ worst fears. Charles had only seen it when Erik worried that Cain come back when Erik had merely assumed he would not- the happiest hours of the day marred by Erik’s unease for a man who didn’t deserve him. No one did. 

“You want me in your bed. You wanted to kiss me. You wanted me even with Cain in the library.”

He spoke as if they were the same. Charles pulse jumped. He sat up and moved away Erik’s hands from the waistband of his pajamas. “Some doms don’t sleep with the subs bound to the house,” Charles offered, with more regret than bitterness. He thought he had made peace with that memory, but now the intolerable shame of it came rushing back- his desire, his bodily lust for Erik unfurling in a scene devised by Cain’s sadism. “You can say no to anything. Everything even. Sex with me isn’t a requirement to me loving you. Erik, say something.”

Erik remained silent, staring somewhere past his shoulder. Charles made a decision. He would be a better man for Erik. “I’m going to sleep somewhere else tonight,” Charles said and got out bed.

The motion jarred Erik from his brooding. “What? Where are you going?” He looked oddly frantic. “What am I suppose to do?”

“Go to sleep, Erik.” Charles shook his head, unsettled by the sight. “It’s not your fault. I’m just going to be down the hall.”

And for a week, Charles slept in the bedroom down the hall. As for the day- the days were the same. Nothing was wrong. Everything as it should be. They went anywhere together whenever they liked. 

Perhaps nothing was wrong-- they lived a dream, but an old one. Charles was haunted by the perverse nostalgia for Erik’s naked body near his, for the orgasms he didn’t deserve but could not help wanting.

Erik’s smile would catch him. The odd pensive look of his eyes would derail his thoughts. The strain as they went on their morning runs would so forcibly remind Charles of sweat in a more intimate setting. 

“What?” Erik asked, wiping his face with the bottom of his shirt. Charles gaze followed the perfect planes of his abdomen.

Charles licked his lip and tasted salt. Erik was staring at him, now. 

“What?” Charles answered, and grinned.

They find the shade and started kissing like the adolescents they couldn’t afford to be. Charles lungs were burning, his heart burning, his body foolish and excited, but he would gladly let the flames consume him. Sweat and tears tasted the same.

-=-=

The inevitable confrontation announced itself with a bullet grazing Charles’ knee. Cain followed, the pistol still curling smoke in the air. 

"You backstabbing thief. You wanted him. You wanted him all along. They all think you're brilliant, Charles, but you're only a brilliant thief. You stole my father from me, now you're stealing my sub. MINE! Erik, come here!"

"Erik goes where he likes," Charles said, only slightly surprised that no one came running. Everyone had the day off. Cain had returned yesterday and so very politely ignored Erik sitting by Charles’ side at dinner.

It was then, watching Kurt, that Charles realised that even if he was not playing Kurt’s game he was still in his arena; Kurt stood to win regardless of outcome. Subs were tethered to their buyers. 

"Come here, Erik," Cain repeated, looking demented.

Erik remained unmoved by Charles’ side. The gun Cain was holding had decorated the wall ever since Charles could remember- a single-shot 17th century antique. Charles was almost surprised it didn’t blow up in Cain’s face. 

“Charles, my _brother_ ,” Cain said, throwing the gun in a corner, “if you wanted to borrow Erik for a while. You merely had to ask. I even offered. Ah, but you’re used to getting everything your way without having to work for it. It is, I’m told, what old money is, Xavier.” He imbued a vicious quality in Charles’ name. 

“Erik is not your sub any more.” Charles said, quite sure that Cain wouldn’t kill him. 

“But are you really his dom? Hoity-toity Xavier, all about rights of the everyman? One show and you change your mind. I’ve seen better you know. I’ve _known_ better. Erik isn’t the best bound-sub in these parts. Does he still lash out while asleep? Does he still make that odd little sound when he comes? I know all about it. I know every bit of him, inside and out. I’m a natural dom, you see, while you’re what- playacting one? You don’t want to be his dom. You don’t have the spine for it. There’s no steel in you, Charles.”

Charles stood, ignoring the pain in his knee. “I don’t need steel.”

Cain leered. “You’re a caning kind? Or more of the hands-on variety? Prove to me that you’re a his dom, that Erik’s a better sub for you than he is for me.”

“This is hardly _Taming of the Shrew_ ,” Charles said, upset.

“What? You watched him while he’s mine; this is only fair. How about it?”

“There’s no _fair_ about it. Affairs between doms and subs are private.”

“I’m not asking you, Charles,” Cain said archly, “I’m asking Erik. Surely you let him speak.”

“It’s all right,” said Erik, laying a reassuring hand on his elbow.

“Oh, so you are one of those doms who listen to their subs, not even a free one. Sure you’re not one yourself?”

“He had told me to convey any discomfort, Cain.”

“Erik, you don’t have to do this,” Charles said. Everything was careening out of control. They were in the library again- all the players in their places, but for a rearrangement of script, still too close for comfort. Erik didn’t know about Charles’ nightmares.

Cain had closed the doors. He threw himself into the armchair, his eyes shining. He rubbed his hands on his knees. 

Meanwhile, Erik was taking off of his clothes and Charles couldn’t help the possessive thrill that passed through him, his brain cataloguing all the differences the last few weeks made on Erik’s body. He looked healthier, stronger. Cain shrugged. He didn’t get off by looking, Charles’ remembered.

“How do you want me?” Erik’s voice, low by his ear, drew Charles to turn toward him. 

“You don’t need to do this,” Charles said, quietly. “You shouldn’t. Let’s find another way.” 

A flicker of annoyance passed over Erik’s face. “Punish me,” he said, and, because he knew Charles too well, he said, “because the first time I had sex with you, I was thinking of Shaw, how he trained me to make my dom pleased with me and that she said, I don’t have to go back to him if I kept her ‘beautiful boy’ happy.”

They had an audience. Charles refused Cain the pleasure of dialog. He was vaguely aware that Erik was running his hand up and down his arms. He pulled away.

“It is true. I regret it later,” Erik smiled, eyes and teeth gleaming oddly in the firelight. “You are angry at me, aren’t you?”

Charles was angry. He thought- He had been so _happy_ , to finally tell Erik, to finally be with him. To learn that it was all a lie. His _mother_.

“Punish me,” Erik said.

In the background, there was an echo- Kurt’s wild laugh, or perhaps Cain’s: “Punish him. He played you, Charles. You were only the means to an end.”

“Shut up!” Charles shouted. He hadn’t prepared for this and Erik was honest. Erik had never lied to him. After all, Charles merely assumed that affection, if not desire entirely had been reciprocated.

“Come on,” Erik goaded, “break your rules for me while I lay there and think of-” And he was still so so terribly beautiful....

Charles flung him over the desk and proceeded to hit him, with one hand, then the other until his arms began to ache. He stopped, panting, looking bewildered at Erik’s beneath him. His neck and back were flushed, but his buttocks were red and looked tender, the whole region inflamed. 

Erik, too, was panting. For a moment, the only sound was their was harsh breathing, then Charles couldn’t help himself. He petted Erik, hoping in some vague way to sooth him, erase what he did, but Erik squirmed against his hand. 

“Fuck me, Charles,” Erik said, the hitch in his voice audible. He was weeping, Charles realised, but for once, it didn’t matter that Erik could be unhappy. 

Charles opened his trousers and slammed into him, nearly gasping at the heat as it engulfed him suddenly. Erik had prepared himself. He now begged, moved, urged Charles on, the motion at once familiar and strange. Charles still had all his clothes. It didn’t feel quite real except for the heat through the fabric of his trousers and the pressure low in his abdomen. It had been so long. Sweat dripped into his eyes, then Charles felt Erik tighten around him and the sensation wrenched an almost painful climax out of him, the pleasure of it lasting only a single moment when his mind was in his body.

For a moment, he collapsed on Erik’s back, listening to his rapid heart beat, feeling the motion of his breathing, the dip of his back against the curve of his face.

He wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep forever, but Cain’s hulking figure was in view. “Satisfied?” Charles asked, barely lifting an eyelid as he withdrew carefully. He realised the question could be applied to the room in general and felt almost hysterical. 

Cain was livid. He stalked toward Erik, who was still lying over the desk. Charles grabbed at his jacket then found himself jerked upwards until his heels no longer touched the floor.

“I’m going to challenge you, Charles Francis Xavier, for the ownership of Erik Lehnsherr. He’s mine.”

“Make the arrangements,” Charles said and actually did laugh aloud when Cain let go of him and he almost stumbled finding his footing again. 

Then Cain was gone

Charles went to Erik and tried to help him lay facedown on the cushions. There were fingershaped bruises on Erik’s hips. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“Stop apologising, you didn’t break skin,” but Erik let out a pained hiss as he dressed. “You said killing him would be a bad idea. I agreed. You should come back to sleep with me. ”

“No,” Charles said. “I’m sorry, but we are never doing it or anything again.” He struggled for coherency, a shiver of despair crawled into him. “I can’t have it for nothing. Does it matter at all that I love you?”

“You love me,” Erik twisted around, looking haunted, there were still tear tracks on his face. “but I didn’t know. Good subs, subs like me, we know how to break and we know how to be broken. What you think is strength is only focus. I did want to be yours, not Cain’s because I wanted to survive? Is that enough? Is it enough that I didn’t want to tell you until today? And if I could, I would’ve never told you.”

“Then why did you tell me?”

“I don’t want to hurt you, Charles,” Erik said, “but when I understood why I already did. You leave me alone in your bed but you go down three flights of stairs to the kitchen in the middle of the night for me. You know everything about me except the worst parts and I needed you to know. You can’t love someone you fantasized in my name.”

Charles didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “So you punish us both? Very well. I accept. I break all my rules for you, willingly, even if it is to see you imperfect and me at my most flawed. Scale fall from my eyes, the world is made anew and I can’t even find it in me to remember the old one when you tell me you care for me, now.” He swallowed, “But we never agreed to this. The plan-”

“The plan was for us to leave this place forever and to leave Cain with nothing.”

“The plan,” Charles said, “is for you to be free.” He got up and left.

-=-=


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The happy ending.

Kurt’s study had been Charles’ father’s. Even now, there was a pen sitting at an angle on the desk, papers lying beneath a paperweight, as if the owner could return any moment and resume working. Charles had not been allowed inside this room or the library while Brian Xavier had been alive.

Afterwards, Charles was only here when Kurt summoned him. For the first time, looking at the empty desk set beside Kurt, he wondered if Kurt’s desk had always been here in this room, this house. 

"When do you go back to Oxford?" Kurt asked. Cain did not inherit much from his father except for his height, his beaked nose and mouth, which looked too small and often comical in his broad face. On Kurt’s thin ascetic face, the features were balanced, though the overall effect reminded Charles of a savage cross between reptile and bird. As a child, Charles had disliked going into his stepfather’s presence thinking Kurt was displeased with him. The thinking changed, the disliked remained. 

“Two weeks" Charles replied, amiable enough.

"Good,” said Kurt, with the complacency of a man who thought he knew everything, “we should be able to get your Erik settled by then before you leave. Shaw’s coming next week to inspect him. He'll have the paperwork ready.”

Charles thought: when you could be calm knowing that everything you hold dear and regard as essential did not matter to anyone else, this is how you know childhood would never come back.

“Erik is coming with me to Oxford,” he informed his stepfather. “Cain challenged me for his ownership; I accepted.”

It was uncertain which sentence turned Kurt that interesting color. 

Kurt looked at the clock. They were due to attend a reception in the city. He picked up the telephone and glared. “Shaw will be coming tomorrow, now get out.”

Charles stayed. “You know Cain. You knew about Erik’s training. You knew about Erik and me, but you encouraged it.”

“Charles-” Kurt began, his voice deathly soft. A warning.

“Erik is not a bone you can throw between Cain and me just so you can watch who survives the aftermath. Well, perhaps you didn’t expect it so literally. I don’t care about the company; I don’t care about your future; my mother always knows how to take care of herself- after all, she found you. I’m not playing anyone’s game, providing you with sport.” 

“And why then, did you figure yourself in a Challenge if you think you're providing me with _sport_?” said Kurt, still in the soft tone, growing softer with each word. “Did I send you to clean the kitchens as a child? Did I force you to live in a cupboard and dress in rags? I may have disagreed with your views, your choices, but have I ever tried to stop you? Have I not given you everything you wanted? You liked Erik, you _pined_ for him the entire summer. Did you think you were subtle? I gave him to you when you earned it. You’ve already showed me that Cain’s not your equal. Is this your delayed rebellion? Cain would’ve gotten over Erik if you didn’t provoke him.”

Charles disagreed. Kurt had not paid attention to Cain since he was a boy. Cain was a rough man, but had a boy’s possessiveness; he would’ve never stopped. Furthermore, it wasn't about Cain. “Erik and I are leaving together," Charles said. "Not as my bound-sub, but my friend.”

Kurt's fist hit the table. “You are twenty-one years old, Charles, time to grow up! Go to Oxford, get yourself your doctorate. You will realise that the world doesn’t care about what you think is right or wrong, that you can’t live your life depending on your feelings and you can’t have everything you want. Erik is going back to Shaw. You’re going to Oxford. No Challenge will take place. I will not have my sons fighting over a bound-sub.” Kurt said. “I’ll have Cain retract it when he returns. I shall not have bloodshed in this house!”

“You are right, I will not fight Cain.”

“You are running away?” Kurt asked, nonplussed.

Once upon a time, Challenges for the rights of ownership of a bound-sub represented challenge to inheritance and property. As bound-subs devolved into an institutional indicator of status and to an extent commercialized as luxury, Challenges became rarer though the the archaic law that preserved amnesty for the doms involved had never been stricken down. For Charles to accept a Challenge from his brother and leave it unmet was declaring that he would never come home.

Charles let a smile pass his lips. “Erik will fight in my place, because it is _his_ place to demand it. As you told me, Shaw had been thorough in his methods, Erik had been trained for anything. Erik promised me he woudn’t kill Cain. I am telling you all this because it seems I should. You didn't let me grow up in my own house in rags.”

A tendon on Kurt’s neck jumped but he didn’t speak. 

Challenges were announced. Cain would make the Sunday edition of _The Times_ , the section after Weddings and Births. Kurt hated gossip.

-=-=

In the front hall, Erik stood waiting in a light linen suit. He was staring at the open door. Charles’s eyes followed the line of Erik’s profile, the cut of his nose, mouth, and jaw, the fine arch of his cheekbones, long strip of throat to the open collar of his soft shirt. Then he noticed the incongruous dark loop as Erik turned around, marring sweep of his collarbones

“Your mother gave it to me the first night. She says all Xavier subs have one,” Erik said, “I was suppose to wear it.”

The collar was unfashionably dark, made of iron and steel, but polished to gleaming by wear. The links on the chains were squarish instead of the more modern stylized ornamentations Charles had seen. No tag was on it. All old families had them, though more as antiques, in the age when it was simply expected that bound subs knew their doms themselves.

“But you didn’t wear it.” Charles still had trouble recalling their first night without thinking what Erik had told him. The sweet memory of it had become bitter. Thinking he might have taken advantage had been better than knowing that Erik had been threatened with his worst nightmare if Charles didn’t.

“I knew you would hate it if I wore it,” Erik said. “You said they were ‘despicable relics of the dark ages’."

“It doesn’t matter,” Charles muttered. He touched collar, put his finger beneath the largest link, where he could feel the print of the Xavier name; the metal was warm from Erik’s skin. “I’ll take it off.”

“Charles,” Erik said, his hands closing around Charles’ wrists, “perhaps I didn’t know that you loved me then, but I still didn’t want you to be unhappy. You would’ve never slept with me if I wore this collar. I knew it and I didn’t wear it. I _should’ve_ worn it. A good sub would’ve. I would’ve let you take it off that first time; and even if you didn’t like it, I could’ve persuaded you to have sex with me anyways and learn to be the dom I expected to have.”

“But you’ve never worn it,” Charles said, staring.

“I never did,” said Erik, eyes strangely hard, “I threw it in a corner of the wardrobe and was determined to forget about it. I just found it.”

“Why now?” He could’ve thrown it away and Charles wouldn’t have known, wouldn’t have even cared. Looking at the collar around Erik’s neck now reminded everything Kurt had accused him: sentiment, wanting the impossible. Charles blinked. It seemed cruel of Erik to remind him that he could never truly be Charles’.

“I _want_ to wear it when I put a bullet in Cain.” Erik’s grip around Charles’ hands tightened, but his expression gentled. “I am yours, Charles Francis Xavier, and I’ll hurt anyone who stands between us. I wanted to be free of Cain, but then I realised you gave me my freedom before I ever became yours on paper.”

Erik’s words were more dangerous than Cain’s gun, Kurt’s disapproval, or the world’s opinion. It offered Charles something more dangerous than hope.

“There’s only Cain, then,” he said, aiming for levity, “for your revenge.”

Erik loosened his hold on Charles’ hand and brought one of them to his lips, his breath hot against the thin skin of his knuckles; he held Charles’ eyes. “No, for ours.” 

-=-=

They go out of the house to the appointed place. There was a very large evergreen. They stood waiting there for a moment before Charles pushed Erik against it and kissed him. He was leaving forever. They would never have another chance.

The dappled sunlight spilled down through the leaves, through his fingers latched onto Erik’s shoulder. Charles licked his way through the seam of Erik’s mouth until their tongues tangled and his body flushed from more than the afternoon heat. Frissons of pleasure ran through him. He felt drunk, intoxicated by the scent of pine and Erik’s so close to him again. When they parted, Erik's mouth was kiss-bruised, eyes dark and glittering promises as he pulled Charles’ close, hand hard against the arch of his back and drifting lower.

“Do we have time?” 

The crunch of steps on the grass answered them. 

Cain, the witnesses, and the doctor, were here. How they _stared_. Charles wanted to laugh. He extricated himself from Erik with slight difficulty and gave them a jaunty wave.

Cain scowled. 

“This is all highly irregular,” Charles’ heard, as they shot Erik strange looks, but they soon disappeared to safer vantage points.

Challenges weren’t duels per se, though sometimes they’ve been formalized as such. Affairs of honour were settled with honour. Affairs of war, reduced in scale to prevent collateral damage, had much more leeway. How much leeway had never been determined. 

Erik shot Cain in the shoulder before he could pull the trigger. Cain let out a howl like a wild beast. Erik shot him in the other shoulder quickly afterwards 

It was over, Charles let out a sigh. The immensity of the world seemed smaller, but Erik advanced another step, his hand still on the gun, the angle of the barrel becoming acute as Cain’s eyes widened. 

“We’ll be late. The car’s waiting in the drive,” Charles said. Erik’s throat moved, the muscles on his arm remained taut, his shoulders tense. Carefully, Charles touched the collar around Erik’s neck. He opened the catch. The metal fell onto the ground with a thump. “Let’s go, my friend. If you kill him, we’ll never stop Shaw or men like them. I can’t do it alone. We have a future together.” 

As if out of a dream, Erik turned.to look at Charles. His mouth opened. For a moment, Charles was afraid. If Erik asked, he would do anything, plans and futures be damned, but Erik lowered the gun and stepped away. 

“We have a future together,” he repeated. He held out his arm. Charles took it. They walked away from Cain, from everything they had wanted to leave behind, when wishes existed only during the wishing.

When Charles arrived in Oxford, he had Erik by his side.

-=-=

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realised during the writing of this fic that it's actually the background fic to [this pic collage](http://www.tumblr.com/tagged/diogenes-club-has-been-and-seen-everything-throughout-holmesian-fandom). Consider the ficlet below the pics an Epilogue and they go on to become subversive social revolutionaries of this D/S verse.
> 
> This D/S-verse operates under some conceit inspired by the OP of the original prompt: that Kurt Marko *bought* Erik for Cain and that Kurt Marko also had the power to *give* Erik to Charles. I've taken it to mean that there are freeborn subs and "bound"-subs, who are available for purchase and that the head of the family, the dom, has absolute power over his family.
> 
> Consequently, there is an inherent consent issue for these bound-subs, who are essentially concubines/helpmeets to younger doms deemed by their father/mother (depending who's the dom) not yet ready to be married to freeborn subs. It's implied that this was historically suppose to be a mutually beneficial relationship where the dom learns and mature from taking care of their subs and "bound-subs" has an opportunity to be looked after materially/earn their freedom; unfortunately, it often times became corrupted into pure sexual slavery, as in the case of Erik, who soon becomes aware that he's probably not going to survive his bondage to Cain.
> 
> Fortunately, Charles falls in love with Erik. He wishes Erik to love him back. There is angst because the world is unfair, the d/s system simply *wrong*, the family is unsympathetic, but they are young, so love conquers everything....


End file.
